Audacity
by Isabel L'Envers
Summary: The scheming Frenchwoman Thelesis Rosier regards herself the nonpareil of manipulation. But as her year at Hogwarts begins, why has Sirius Black been one step ahead of her from the very beginning? It's almost as if he knows exactly what she's doing.
1. Of Mellisonant Exchange

_Prologue_

It was a cool and breezy late-afternoon in the middle of the Parc de Mérignac, a small community in central Bordeaux. There was not much activity in the air on this particular day. All there was to be seen was the occasional man and wife promenading along the park paths, and idle groups of dowagers gossiping in small clusters along the way. Across the street, picturesque town houses all in rows decorated a scene which, surely, embodied a most ideal neighbourhood.

A youth of fair features, walking nonchalantly along the footpath stopped to nod to one particularly voluble group of old women. They tittered amongst themselves and expressions of endearment were expressed to the boy, who smiled charmingly and continued on his way. The wind whispered through the Cypress trees and followed him; he who was headed toward a collection of the buildings on the East-facing side of the park.

Although all these houses were more or less identical in their determined charm, one house in particular stood out. A weathered, sandstone edifice partially covered in ivy, it possessed an imposing front entrance of black, lacquered oak. . A closer look at the polished door revealed a small, golden plaque on its centre; a metallic square embossed with two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars. There was no doorhandle.

The golden-haired adolescent crossed the street to this building and mounted the steps to the front door. He looked around casually and appeared to caress the plaque with light fingers, before whispering something under his breath. The door swung inward on soundless hinges, and with one final look at the park, he passed through the door and into the house.

The Parc de Mérignac noticed nothing, and the wind blew onward.

*

The room into which the boy had just entered was at odds with the apparent nature of the house from the outside. Aside from being marble, cold and still, the atrium was vast. It housed several ostentatious Persian vases on ivory-inlaid side tables and its width was surely far greater than the width of the façade outside. There was no one occupying the space except for our youth, and an errant tortoise-shell cat who looked greatly surprised by the young man's entrance.

He had paused once inside the atrium and looked around cautiously, eyeing the cat with obvious mistrust before moving on soft feet to one of the two arches that occupied the north and south facing walls. The marble floors made soft scuffing noises despite his best efforts and he showed the first signs of disquiet as the tortoise-shell looked at him severely before jumping up from an overdecorated chaise and running for the opposite egress.

The boy blanched and whipped a long, dark wand from his pocket, aiming at the cat. His jet of blue light missed, however, and merely succeeded in ridding a manicured pot plant of all its leaves. The now sad-looking plant quivered mournfully, while the cat commenced a great fuss in the next room, mewling loudly. The boy shoved blonde curls back from a forehead that gleamed with the first hint of sweat and hastily headed for his exit. But before he could reach it a voice echoed across the hall.

'_Puss? Quel est ce bruit?_' The boy froze momentarily and then panicked, breaking into a run. He had just rounded the corner when the cat reappeared around from the opposite side of the room, with a stout, matronly woman in tow. Upon seeing the empty marble entrance she looked at the cat suspiciously before looking again, and breaking into a hearty laugh. '_Ah, bon! Tu est incroyable, ma belle chatte!' _She bustled forward, removing a wand from the front pocket of her apron and waving it at the bush, whose stubby branches waved happily as it was restored to its former verdant glory. With another glance around, she withdrew around the corner from which she came, with a fond glance and (an evidently highly unwelcome) stroke for the cat left sitting on the marble floor.

Ears flattened, it stalked back to the chaise, switching its long tail irritably.

*

Our youth hurried along the next set of corridors, but once the danger appeared to have been averted, he slowed. Resuming his relaxed posture, he climbed a set of stairs, crossed three consecutive hallways through adjoining rooms and then up two more flights of stairs. Breathing only slightly faster, he finally came to a stop outside a solid oak door. He raised a hand and caressed the golden plaque with the selfsame crossed wands that occupied the entrance door. Another murmured password, but this time the door did not open.

Instead, the boy stood back and waited patiently. After a few seconds the door swung outward and a young woman was beheld on the threshold. She was wrapped in a blush silk robe and had strikingly fine features that seemed to stifle any words the blonde youth was about to utter. He smiled altogether vacantly and didn't move, instead choosing to stare. The girl seemed quite content to let him do so, but after some moments a tiny frown marred her lovely face, and she spoke.

'Isn't there something you wish to give me, Asce?' The boy, who had been identified now as Asce, gave a small start and blustered hurriedly.

'_-Ah, mais, mais oui! J'ai un-_' But the girl cut him off.

'_L'Anglais. L'Anglais si tu plaît, Asce._' She laughed, a throaty, full sounding laugh. 'My uncle wishes for me to speak English much of the time, now. For what reason, I cannot comprehend, but he was quite clear, _donc_…' She trailed off and the smile drained off her face as she focused on Asce's and raised an eyebrow. He hurriedly reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a package the size of a matchbox and placed in on her outstretched palm.

There was suddenly a wand in her hand, and with a flick of the light-coloured shaft, the tiny package tripled in size. She glanced at Asce, who seem torn between gazing hungrily at her and the parcel . A muttered incantation and it lay open in her arms; small plastic wrapped packages and various pieces of documentation could be seen through the layers of paper and string. She calmly waved her wand and the parcel was closed once more.

'_Magnifique, _my love.' She returned it to its former diminutive size and tucked the tiny parcel in a pocket of the pink silken robe. Out of the same pocket she retrieved some notes of unidentifiably currency and passed them to the transfixed youth, who took them mechanically, without looking away from her face. His mouth opened and he seemed about to say something, yet again she cut him off. 'Ah, but now I am wearied! There is nothing like business to lend weariness to a person, yes?' She yawned delicately and turned, retreating to the room beyond the doorway.

The oak entryway followed her, swinging shut, leaving Asce standing in the corridor, hand still outstretched, mouth still half open.

*

As the door closed on the more-than-slightly stunned youth, our young woman had already forgotten about him. She crossed a small entrance area and took one of the three doors that led from it. It opened onto a library; a large, airy room; full of light, colourful silk drapes and floor to ceiling bookcases. There was a desk over by the imposing, arched windows, where the light of dusk just began to spill through. With a sigh, she took a seat at the desk, moving several books from where it appeared she had left them open, half-read.

With her wand, she tapped the one drawer the desk boasted to unlock it. She drew it open and transferred the parcel from her robe pocket to the depths of the rosewood desk. Reaching further in, frowning, she shifted through the numerous things in the drawer. Several plastic-wrapped packages were left to the side as she dug out a leather-bound journal.

She closed the drawer, opened the journal and began to write.

*

The door to the entranceway swung open noiselessly. Footsteps that belonged to a tall, well-built man of middle-age made their way across the library. He stopped at the sight of the sleeping young woman and appeared uncomfortable for a moment, glancing around the room as though he felt he should not be there .

As no one jumped out of the nearest bookshelf decrying his presence, the man evidently felt bolstered. He inspected the figure stretched out at the desk. The young woman's head was resting on the open pages of a large, blank book; a quill hung precariously from her fingertip, steadily dripping green ink onto the cream carpet. The man sighed, and reaching over, he plucked the quill gently from her slim fingers and replaced it on the inkstand. Waving his wand, he restored the carpet to its former purity and then reached over and tapped the sleeping girl's shoulder. She stirred briefly, then,

'_Oui?_' Her head snapped up, the pages of the heavy journal sticking to her cheek. Frowning in irritation at both the audacity of the pages and her reflex reaction to being woken, the young woman closed the book and appraised the source of the interruption. It was the butler, clothed in hues of monochrome. He gestured to the door of the library.

'_Le directeur voudrait - ' _She stopped him with one finger, her eyes as alert as though they had not been in sleep mere moments before.

'English, if you would,' she said sweetly. The man sighed.

'The headmaster would like to see you in his office, Miss Rosier.' As he spoke, the corners of his moustache fluttered ever-so slightly. A bland expression upon her face, the newly-identified girl smiled politely up at him.

'Yes, but I do not wish to see him,' she said. He shifted on his feet, and she cocked her head to the side. 'Oh, don't look so disappointed, Manolo.' A lily-white hand waved carelessly at the impassive man. She looked at her surroundings, 'I am sure he will benefit from my visiting him, perhaps…next week!' She stopped then, and smiled thoughtfully. 'No, rather, next month.'

The butler shifted, clearly not liking to argue with this young woman. He studied her intently, seeing she was now shifting some papers on her desk with admirable fervour. He coughed lightly and smiled civilly. She looked up and returned the smile impatiently. 'Oh, there was something else, Manolo?'

The manservant looked at her expectantly. Then, seeing he was not achieving anything, he changed tack. A slightly harder smile, accompanied by a hint of steel, he addressed her sharply.

'He requested to see you immediately, Miss.' Miss Rosier seemed taken aback momentarily. She regained her composure seamlessly, however, and returned the smile.

'Kindly tell him that I'm not inclined to grace him with my presence at this point in time.' Faint emphasis was placed on the sentence, and the man standing in front of her was treated to a flinty stare.

'The headmaster does not like to be kept waiting,' the butler stepped forward, towering over her. 'We have tarried long enough already to anger him.

'I'm sure the _headmaster _will survive without my presence a fortnight yet.' This was said in a tone of heavy irony. Miss Rosier cocked her head to one side and smiled at the man standing above her. Her dark curls, drawn back with a satin ribbon, quivered with some suppressed emotion. The butler smiled uncertainly back at her.

'Miss Rosier, the headmaster would not be pleased were you to quietly remove yourself to some hideaway, like last time.' He motioned as though to take her arm. 'I believe it would be in both our best interests for you to come with me.'

She smiled once again, dimples appearing this time.

'Dearest Manolo, do you honestly believe that I will allow you to-' with a cry she twisted away from his attempt to grab her arm.

'Miss Rosier, I really must insist-'

'-How dare you!' She hissed, curls falling from her coiffure into large, but currently narrowed, eyes. "How dare you Manolo! You forget yourself!' Her wand was withdrawn in an instant, under his chin, forcing him to stop.

'Thelesis – Miss Rosier,' he quickly amended as her eyes widened in outrage. 'You have been requested most urgently to attend, and I have been instructed to bring you with me by whatever means necessary.' Thelesis's - for this appeared to be her name - eyes had darkened in their heightened emotion, and now she lowered her wand and flitted to the door before he could say anything more.

Her robe slithered at the movement and she her journal was tucked tightly under her arm, while her silken ballet slippers twisted as she pivoted on the carpet. She reminded the man of a cat; lithe and aware of her surroundings, and currently enraged. He could almost see the feral yowl rising to her lips. 'Come with me now Miss - or we both will be reprimanded.'

He surveyed her, the petite young woman poised for flight near the exit of the library. Her low, throaty voice floated back to him, borne upon the golden flecks of light from the soft glow of lamps scattered across the library.

'Nobody will reprimand me if they cannot find me, Manolo.'

He blinked and opened his mouth to call her back, but she only smiled, and so he closed his mouth. It was not just a smile she gave him, thought the butler. It was a sinful, wicked mockery of a smile. And this time, he knew, he would regret going after her. For if there was one thing Thelesis Rosier was infamous for, it was for always getting what she wanted.

Almost in slow motion, he saw her delicate hand reaching for the golden plaque on the door; the touch she gave it was gentle, and she looked back at him as she spoke the password. She spoke it not as he normally heard it said. Not as a reverent uttering, not as a secretive murmur nor even as a loving caress. The quality of her voice never changed, as low as it was mellisonant.

'_L'Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons.' _

And still, in one quiet sentence the man thought he had never heard the name decried so bitterly. The door swung open on its hinges. He blinked once more, and Thelesis Rosier had gone.


	2. Whimsy Unprecedented

Audacity.

Chapter 2.

_Bernard - I have very recently discovered, in an unpleasant manner that the roof leaks. Personal experience actually, in case you were wondering. Well, I suppose it's something that you don't learn every day, but it's not overly convenient, especially when one has nowhere else to go. I have retired to this attic that I found quite by accident one day. I find myself rather surprised that such a school as Beauxbatons has – gasp – attics! _

_Well, I'm sure that no one knows about this aberration of nature, or it would have been removed long ago, in one of the Master's maniacal cleaning sprees. He should see someone about that._

_I'm hiding from everyone, Bernard, because they are looking for me. Yes, yes, I know I don't know why they're looking for me. But it's instinct, you see. I have suffered too many a harsh word (and occasional blow) from the Master to willingly go to his office when requested._

_Not that I haven't manoeuvred my way out of each sticky situation time and time again. It's amusing really, how the only thing that this school has deprived me of is trust. Trust in friendship, in love, in life. And now I sound like an inspirational gift-card. The point is that there is __**no**__ point in staying here, and I somehow don't wish for there to be one. _

_The school has a consistently high standard of scholarly achievements, or so Uncle says. I have failed to see evidence of that here, and all the teachers seem to be adept at is attempting excluding me from all social contacts at all - something about cutting off my resources. _

_I have written to Mother and Father again, Bernard, but they say that I shall stay here until I have completed my schooling, because Uncle wishes it. _

_Despicable._

_Why should anyone stay in this pretty corner of hell if they had the choice? Yes, well, I don't have the choice Bernard, as you well know._

_Bad enough that Uncle used his influence (and a conveniently situated bag of galleons) to gain me the position of Head Girl, but his constant pressure was stifling, to say the least._

_But now, Bernard, he has gone._

The uncomfortable-looking girl sitting on the wooden floorboards of an unusually tiny attic winced, and slid from her position to the other side of the undersized room. There, now perched upon one of the boxes stacked there, she rearranged her black dress. The skirt was gathering great amounts of fluff, she noted with some displeasure. With a sigh, Thelesis Rosier returned to the large leather-bound book she had previously been absorbed in writing in. She shifted, so as to be more comfortably situated, picked up her quill, and resumed scribbling.

_I can hear the sounds of dinner being served, now. The distant chink of cutlery and the low hum of voices have been permeating my mind for a while now. Now, whether they are simply figments of my ill-adjusted psyche, or if they actually exist is another matter altogether._

_It is the hunger, I believe. I am quite hungry._

_They must be hungry too, those people who are looking for me. I suppose they aren't searching for me anymore, or they would have thought to look in this place. Quite hilarious, how they cease to investigate as soon as dinner is served._

_Well, it's understandable I suppose. The food here is rather excellent – the house elves outdo themselves at every meal. _

A brief, caustic sigh was let loose by the girl on the box.

_I'm leaving soon. This, I have been lead to believe by a series of events playing out even now, as I write._

_Uncle has been taken away. 'Kidnapped' I believe, is the operative word in this sequence._

The young woman paused as soon as she had written this sentence, and gave a considerably un-ladylike snort. Then returning to the book, she began writing once more.

_Taken? Taken! I ask them, Bernard, I honestly do. When people come up with these sorts of excuses, one has considerable reason to question their sanity. I presume that the people who come up with these lies are at least distantly related to my family, if not in our immediate blood-line._

_I suppose that 'taken' is now a euphemism for 'run off to kill muggles and terrorize the country at the side of some deluded war-lord'._

_Well, when one thinks about it, it becomes clearer. They seem to think that it will besmirch the family name if they openly admit to it. Not that the family has the least objection to Uncle packing himself off to God knows where, to do the unthinkable with a wand and a group of unsuspecting muggles._

_The public eye - as I have been led to believe - is a harsh and unforgiving thing._

_Yet, hilariously, as long as both sides maintain that Uncle was kidnapped, (when both know full well that he is in fact, in Uganda, quite happily murdering innocent civilians) all will be well._

_And the fact that the whole school is aware makes my dwelling here absolutely splendid. Well, at least I can still achieve what I want, given the right persuasive tactics. Yet the most felicitous thing that could happen to me now is to be taken away from here._

_Ah, my darling parents – simply clueless, as you well know, Bernard. All they seem to do is fritter their time and money away in various places around the continent. Well, clueless is a little harsh, isn't it? They are not clueless, quite the contrary - they are very intelligent, but they are very much – I don't know how to word it, Bernard. The words to describe people such as my parents are not often used. One could say they are 'visionary enthusiasts' or simply, 'hopeless dreamers'. Regardless, they are darling people._

_They are darling people who would spend their days sailing the Pacific without a destination or a clue as to where they were._

_And they are darling people, Bernard, who might squander ten thousand galleons on a rare rose bush, which they would let die when their notice wavered and they turned to some new point of concentration. _

_Anyone that has ever known them quickly comes to the realisation that they don't care about anything other than their current obsession, and a few auxiliary objects besides. And really, they are darling people who might have had a child one day, and then lost interest the next._

With a bitter laugh, she heaved herself off of the storage trunk, and crossed the room to the door. Cautiously, silently, the door handle was turned, and with a few more movements Thelesis was out on the landing.

She paused and cocked her head, eyes resting upon the dusty carpet she stood on. Without seeing it, she stood in place for a few more seconds, listening carefully. There was only silence to be heard, and the way seemed to be clear.

With one step, Thelesis daintily placed herself atop the ornate banister at the head of the stairs. Arranging her skirts pedantically, she paused once more to listen for intruders.

None were heard, for in one fast movement she pushed the floor away, sailing swiftly down the polished wooden balustrade.

She left nothing but a cloud of dust from the antiquated carpet in her wake.

With a gleeful cry that echoed through the ears of those in the vicinity, she slid rapidly and expertly around the curves in the wood before coming to a sudden and violent halt at the foot of the stairs.

She had barrelled (none-too gracefully) into the side of a tall seventh-year. All that she could see was his rather well-muscled chest, which was currently pressed against her cheek. Thelesis wasn't quite sure as to his name, but the smell was familiar. Ah! That was right - he must have been the one she had been snogging in that broom closet last Saturday night. It was that same distinctive aroma of coconut and generic aftershave, she mused.

Even so, she snickered under her breath at herself and the misfortune of the conveniently-placed student. Getting to her feet, she noticed he was presently occupied with leering down her top. Inwardly she frowned. The only remedy for this type of inappropriate behaviour, she decided, was to treat him to a little of the same.

She cleared her throat, and his gaze jumped from her plunging neckline back up to her face. He looked a little guilty, Thelesis noted with pleasure, but also a more than a little annoyed. Which, as she remembered now, he was fully justified in being. If she was accurate in her recollection, he was one of those she had mercilessly used in the pursuit of revenge upon her current boyfriend (the term was used loosely here) Jacques. This had involved papering the seventh-year boys' dormitories with numerous photographs of her and the boy standing in front of her (in rather compromising situations).

Now Thelesis began to giggle in earnest. There was no need for punishment, she decided; he had copped enough flack from his peers in the past few days than she had endured during her whole stint here at Beauxbatons.

Instead, she blew him a kiss and a rather sultry look, watching him in clear entertainment as he stuttered hopelessly.

Straightening her skirt in an ostentatious gesture, she retrieved her book from amongst the scrunched-up carpet at the base of the stairs where it had been thrown in a careless movement. Looking up again, she could see the boy still standing there gaping at her. He started, knowing that he had been caught staring and made to turn on his heel. While the attempt was indeed fine, all he accomplished was to trip over his own feet and fall over with a loud thud.

Smirking, Thelesis made to stride off, but stopped after a period of two seconds. She realised that she had, in fact, attracted an audience.

Whereupon a large sea of highly amused spectators, noticing that she finally acknowledged their presence, burst into applause. Among the people, Thelesis noted, were several of the people who had been assigned to find her.

Where, only minutes ago, her face had been relaxed and easy, she now stiffened. What could be done? The only way to retain control of the situation would be to bluff her way through it. Careful manipulation was the path she would have to take.

Running through contingency plans in her mind, Thelesis noted that the applause of the audience, although initially mocking, had now turned to jeering and hissing.

'Sacrebleu!' She muttered under her breath, in a mockery of Poirot. Of all the people to fall into the midst of (quite literally, in her case), these had to be the most unpleasant. She would have to play them for fools, Thelesis decided. How this would be done was not quite clear, but she was confident in her role of improviser. She smirked delicately - they could not best her here. Here she was in control.

Appearing to regain her composure, she adopted a mask of cool influence and beckoned imperiously at Manolo, who was standing inconspicuously in a corner and one of the few not still guffawing.

'Ah! Here is my darling Manolo.' In a burst of unconcerned and nonchalant joviality, Thelesis walked forward. 'I have been searching everywhere for you, Manolo. One would think you were hiding from me!'

Manolo's eyebrows drew together in confusion, struggling to comprehend the sudden turn of situation. Thelesis continued her farce with subtle amusement shown in her eyes, 'I think it high time that the Master benefited from one of my little visits, no?' She laughed softly and scrutinised the group, who were slowly catching on to the slight role-reversal being played out. He stepped forward, and opened his mouth as if to speak. But Thelesis cut him off with an airy gesture and gaily skipped forward, taking his pinstriped arm with a simple 'Come! We shall go to the Master's study now.'

With the air of a man who did not know what on earth was happening, Manolo followed dumbly, glancing back at the group of people left in the hall. Their laughter had petered out by now, and a general sense of mystification was left hanging over them. Almost as if someone had pulled the wool over their eyes, and they had yet to realise it.

There was not a sound to be heard within the East Wing of Beauxbatons Academy tonight, and Thelesis had been waiting in the Master's study for forty-five minutes now. Nothing had yet happened.

She sighed. The reason she had tried slip under the Master's radar earlier was due to the frequent visits she payed him already, incurred by her alarming number of misdemeanours. But her motivation for avoiding the Master was unlike various other students. She never (for reasons unknown to all but herself) collected any punishment from these visits, and regarded them as a waste of precious time.

But this time, the visit was not for purposes of admonishment, but seemed to do with the letter that lay folded on her lap.

The clock was ticking louder with every second, or so it seemed to the one who was waiting impatiently. Thelesis was seated upon a leather sofa. An uncomfortable leather sofa, she had noted with displeasure, within the first ten minutes of placing herself there.

The study in question was large, and brightly lit by a handsome fireplace that Thelesis had been engaged in staring into for the past forty-five minutes. There were large, floor-to-ceiling windows covered by drapes, in the southern corner of the room.

The atmosphere of the room was tense and expectant. And still she sat, in the middle of the room, waiting.

The purpose and source of the expectancy was to be found in the piece of parchment that lay quiescent upon the girl's silk-clothed lap, next to her drumming fingers.

Finally, with a sigh, Thelesis unfolded the parchment. It was creamy-coloured, and the broken seal hanging off on a ribbon was a flying swallow, embossed in navy blue. In fanciful writing, brimming with curlicues and flourishes, read the following:

_Darling,_

_We are coming to pick you up from school later tonight._ _We have decided to rethink various matters of your schooling, now that _(here there were several ink blots) _Ambroise has gone. We will arrive sometime after eight. Please be packed, dear, _

_Your loving mother and father._

Although printed in an overall tone of affection, the letter held unmistakeable signs of negligence. It was written in two different coloured inks – as though the sender had run out of one halfway through. It was also blotched slightly crinkled.

Having read the note again, Thelesis sighed in impatience and glanced at the clock for what might have been the seventh time that evening. It was eight-thirty.

A quick rustling movement in the corner of the study revealed another person in the room. There, at the desk in the centre of the room, sat the Master, scribbling madly away.

Sir Jean Lefevre, Director of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, was an elderly gentleman. He wore an air of confidence and assurance as easily as one whom had been in a position of control for many years. His most distinguishing feature (aside from his shock of snowy-white hair) was his graceful hands, which he rather liked to wave around mid-rant. This, as he had no doubt discovered, tended to distract the miscreant he was moralizing to at the time, an advantage he used shamelessly.

Nevertheless, he was an exceedingly tough, embittered old man. He liked for things to go his way, or not to come at all.

Which was why when Thelesis Rosier appeared at Jean Lefevre's (or the Master, as he was known to the general student body) school, with a Head Girl-ship already tucked neatly under her doll-like arm (who had the right, said he, to decide these things if not the Headmaster?) and the tendency to act in the most un-Head Girl like manner possible (there were several, _incidents_, with some of the teachers that he preferred not to think of), he was quite confused.

What had happened to his carefully established order? Somehow, _inconceivably_, it had all come crashing down about his ears. And strangely enough, the girl who had gained so much stature within the school's system with so little effort - did not seem to want to be there.

All Miss Rosier gave the impression of doing, was to be in perpetual disgrace. And as the Head Girl, no less! She was frequently caught skipping class, never did homework (apparently it was a matter of principle) and was always behind the stables – engaging improper behaviour with the opposite sex! There were even rumours of dalliances with _teachers_ for God's sake.

And when she was confronted with her misdeeds, there was always some form of breakdown, usually followed by copious amounts of tears. Crocodile tears, as both parties well knew, yet failed to mention.

Large eyes would appeal to Jean – wouldn't he give her chance to reform?

And every time, without fail, Jean Lefevre gave her another chance. He didn't know why she had such an effect on him, but apparently she had the same talent with all of the male teachers, and a large amount of the female. It was uncanny, and her skills in manipulation and deception had made her simultaneously adored and despised by everyone at Beauxbatons.

He sent for her, every time, with the intention of taking away her privileges (he was still attempting to find out who had made her Head Girl in the first place) and disciplining the girl. And every time, as she left his office (scot-free), he swore he could hear her laughing quietly to herself as she walked down the hall.

Needless to say, Jean was rather on the verge of a nervous breakdown himself.

What Jean Lefevre was not to know, was that it was through no power of her own that Thelesis Rosier had gained her situation. Her Uncle, known to the world as Ambroise Rosier, had no small part in ensuring his niece prime position at the most exclusive magical academy in France.

For Ambroise was exceedingly powerful in France, and his extended family held a reflected fame. Whether this fame was good, was debatable, for it was a known fact that the extended Rosier family (of which Ambroise was head) were deeply immersed in illicit activities and dealings all over the world. And his favoured niece, Thelesis, was offered the best his influences could gain for her.

Nevertheless, it was clear by Thelesis' muted joy at the arrival of the note currently clutched in her fist (and the frequent disparaging looks she threw over her shoulder at Jean Lefevre) that she would rather not be at the school at all.

The clock struck eight forty-seven at that moment, and the fireplace (the very same she had been boring proverbial holes into, with her intent gaze) began to rumble. With a flash of viridescent light that illuminated Thelesis' drawn face, flames of an unnatural green hue leapt from the fireplace. Just as suddenly as the flames had appeared, they were gone – leaving in their place two very singular-looking individuals.


	3. Dans le Jardin

Audacity - Chapter 3

Audacity.

Chapter 3.

There, before the occupants of the study, appeared two figures. They stood out in sharp relief against the harsh backdrop of emerald flames. These flames, in their magnitude, were only just beginning to die back into the depths of the cavernous fireplace.

Their singular natures were ambiguous in a certain way, many had decided over the years, but rather blatant in another. For these people were the parents of Thelesis Rosier. And they were neither in the least ordinary nor even ordinarily strange.

The tall woman who had just entered the room, for example, was clad in a floor-length evening gown, cut from white silk. She wore her hair in a chignon, and was at first glance exceptionally beautiful. At a second appraisal, it could be observed that she was not _beautiful, _per se, but rather had striking features. Her face was a palette of bold slashes and eye-catching contours. These characteristics were extraordinary, one could suppose. But when the aspects were taken in perspective, the first impressions were often far from the certainty.

The man, who had entered along with the woman, was small and portly. He seemed to waddle along in a faint cloud of pipe-smoke, from the one he carried in his hand, waving his polished cane absent-mindedly behind himself. His most distinguishing feature was his manner of dress, clothed as he was in tweed and leather. He appeared to be, in all manners of the phrase, an eccentric British gentleman. He too, like the woman, appeared in a first impression to be extraordinary. This was because they both gave off an aura of eccentricity that astounded anyone with whom they met for the first time.

Her name was Agnete Rosier, and his was Henry Rosier. Together, as the parents of Thelesis they shared few similarities. Aside from the obvious resemblance between the two, Agnete and her daughter were opposites in stature. For while Thelesis was petite, her mother was toweringly tall. And even as her mother habitually wore extravagant evening gowns every day, Thelesis opted for the understated modishness that ran in her father's side of the family.

As well, with her father, Thelesis was dwarfed by his size. How she was so tiny, she had often questioned herself, when her parents were such giants, was a mystery to her.

But the biggest difference, she knew, was her character. Thelesis Rosier was not an eccentric, and she knew her parents to be from years spent in her uncle's company. She was Ambroise Rosier's protégée, and having spent more time with him in the past ten years of her life than with her parents, his influences had shaped her character.

But he had gone now, and Thelesis had been left behind once more.

Her bitterness on the sore subject extended far past the surface, yet for now she pushed the hurt aside.

She had been waiting for the time when they took her away from Beauxbatons, and that day had finally come.

Thelesis skipped forward to greet her parents.

'Maman, Papa!' She exclaimed. An ache in her chest she hadn't realised had appeared suddenly eased. Thelesis curtsied to them both, and they acknowledged her coolly in their own fashions before suddenly gathering her up in a warm embrace.

'Ah, ma petite choux!' and 'How I have missed you!' echoed throughout the study for several seconds. Before:

'Lefevre! Where are you, old chap?' And Henry Rosier bounded forward, knocking over a vase in the process.

If the brief but loud sounds of a family being reunited had not alerted Jean Lefevre of the Rosiers' presence, the sound of expensive porcelain shattering certainly did. He leapt out of his chair as if electrified, and seemed to zero in on Thelesis first.

'Ah,' Henry said. And he looked near guilt - near, but not quite. 'I'll settle that with you later, Lefevre.' Lefevre's eyes narrowed and he leapt forward, snatching up Henry's proffered hand.

'Yes, yes,' he muttered seemingly to himself, shooting Thelesis furtive glances. He refocused his gaze upon Agnete's face, and spoke rapidly, 'Will you be leaving presently, then?'

This abrupt and almost rude question caused Agnete's finely arched brows snap together in annoyance and her eyes to flatten. Lefevre, sensing his faux pas, blanched. 'Er,' he stuttered, 'Excuse my rudeness, I simply meant to enquire as to your intentions for the duration of your visit to my fine establishment.' The last part was spun out in a tone of sickening obsequiousness.

'No, Lefevre,' said Agnete. 'We will leave now, and be taking Thelesis with us.' She glanced at Henry, 'was there anything else, dear?' Henry shook his head.

'No, there was not, my darling. We wish to enrol Thelesis in a different school.' This last part was directed at Lefevre, who (as much as he wished Thelesis Rosier away from his school) bristled, thinking there to be an insinuation buried in the last line. But he rearranged his features into that of which didn't look so offended.

'Oh yes?' he inquired.

'Yes,' replied Agnete, rather acerbically. 'We were thinking of Durmstrang, or perhaps even-'

'No.' The word was quiet, but projected in the small room. Both parties looked to the sofa. Thelesis had retired there after her parents' arrival, and hadn't moved since. But now she spoke out, her quiet voice laced with irritation. 'I said I wanted to go to Hogwarts, Papa.'

Henry opened his mouth to speak, but Agnete beat him there.

'Yes, yes, darling,' she said dismissively. 'You decide, but that's hardly the point here…'

But Thelesis had tuned out, and by the time her parents had finished their conversation with the Headmaster, she was again deeply immersed within her own thoughts.

She only dimly noticed when they took her arm and led her to the fireplace, and held on tightly to her father's waist through force of habit more than anything. It was only when they arrived back at their Hampshire estate in England that she truly awoke.

The very next day Thelesis would be starting her year at her new boarding school. She spent her last night at home sitting at her window, gazing past the darkened hills and forests to the mountains beyond.

For the greater part of the half-hour, she had been slowly traversing the sheltered passage that joined onto the green courtyard. And from a concealed vantage point in the courtyard he had been watching her wear the sandstone pavers down. All the while she paced, the boy watched her, and contemplated the anonymity that was this girl.

She was alone, he noted. She was a figure of dark-clothed solitude who wore clothes of noticeable cut and quality.

She sported a close-fitting dress of ribbed black wool that was subtly textured.

The way in which her clothes fell from her shoulders drew attention to the frailty of her petite form. The scoop necked dress slipped over the hard line of her collar bone and cinched in at the waist, creating an hour-glass figure. Her legs, small and slight, were sheathed in corrugated woollen stockings and tapered down to small feet, shod in white pumps.

The girl appeared to be no more than seventeen; he pondered, and had remarkably few lines upon her face for one at such a trying age.

The skin upon her visage was pale and translucent, suffused with a gentle blush below her cheekbones – whether this was natural, he didn't know and could not tell. But prominent cheekbones they were indeed, greatly pronouncing the heart-shape of her face. They drew out the pointedness of her chin and the plumpness in her lips with great clarity.

But the nose, he thought, yes, the nose was very fine. Small and gently-fashioned, it drew the eye up and across arched, neatly plucked brows and down to her eyes. Of the eyes the viewer definitely approved. They were large and heavy-lidded with full, bristly lashes – and their irises a curious shade of dark grey.

The girl's hair appeared to be an ambiguous shade of sable, falling in thick waves to her elbows. It was somewhat glossy but slightly coarse, and when the girl wore it down (as she was at this moment) it rather overwhelmed her slight frame. He contemplated her even as she passed through a patch of bright sunlight streaming across her path, and illuminated her figure. He now saw that her hair was indeed dark, but of a browner hue, when in the sun. _Bistre_, he thought idly.

Still, she negotiated the passage for another half-hour, occasionally coming to rest upon the low stone wall that enclosed half the corridor. She didn't have any nervous habits, from what he could see. All he could see was the occasional movement of her well manicured hand raising itself to push back hair from her high forehead. This motion would extend her arm slightly, and the delicate line of her wrist revealed to him no adornments of any kind.

Finally, the event the girl seemed to be waiting for occurred. A tall woman appeared in the archway at the end of the sandstone passage and beckoned to her. As the diminutive girl strode towards her, she began to speak in fast-flowing French.'We have no more to discuss here, my darling,' with this endearment, the woman reached out to tuck a stray strand of the girl's curls behind her ear 'so your father and I are leaving now'.

The observer was momentarily taken aback by the language being spoken, but listened hard, eager to hear more.

The girl leaned towards her, and the woman leant down to kiss her forehead gently.

'But where is Papa?' asked the girl. She spoke in lilting, mellifluous French also. 'Why hasn't he come to say goodbye?'

The woman (presumably her mother, thought the boy) shook her head and murmured something unintelligible about business matters. Then, with one last embrace, the woman turned on her heel to leave. She left one last remark over her shoulder.

'Stay here, darling, in the courtyard. The professors have sent for the Head Girl to settle you in.' and in a final flutter of silk, she was gone.

She appeared unsettled; and the boy saw she was succeeding in suppressing her emotions. Then she stood up swiftly, and he saw something in her face rupture. It was split-second, but still, it was there. Intrigued, the observer leant forward in his seat. At a closer inspection, he saw nothing and leant back again, disappointed. He was sure there had been something there, but had evidently been mistaken.

Relaxing back, he settled down to observe this captivating girl in greater detail.

One thing that excited large amounts of interest in the boy watching was the girl's character. Or rather, the lack thereof she seemed inclined to reveal. Her façade (he was disposed to think she had a façade, for he had seen flashes of what lay beneath) was that of one who was exceedingly languorous, whose movements were leisurely. It was as though she didn't want anyone to think deeply about her movements - for there was indeed more to be seen - he thought.

His mind, starved of coherent thought for such a period, immediately seized the line of reflection, already turning over in the throes of conjecture.

Suddenly there appeared a student in his peripheral vision. This errant person skipped down the steps leading to the grass, and turned behind themselves to gesture to another student. Another came, and then another; the courtyard was teeming with such students.

The boy watching shook off a sudden feeling of annoyance that his point of focus was diluted with arbitrary distractions, and watched in amusement as the students of the school came to realise there was an unfamiliar person in their midst.

Then began the whispering, he saw. Rolling, turbulent waves of murmurs filled his ears; a soft susurrus that permeated the square slowly, then with rising force.

Gradually some approached the stranger in their midst, and he watched as she brushed some away, but kept others. It was a calculated process, he realised - for she only chose to talk to those whom she judged could serve her interests best.

Her split second decisions chose the slyest-appearing and the most articulate.

All he could see was the elegant line of her wrist as it flicked out, words tumbling lazily from her mouth. How, he thought to himself, was she so exceptionally well put-together? One would never know what she was thinking, and indeed, he did not. It was all hidden under her inscrutable appearance. Frowning, his head lolled back, and he studied her facial expressions some more.

She was tapping her foot now, as the crowds milled nervously around her. She was keenly awaiting the Head Girl, he realised. All that showed upon her face was gentle impatience and a casual, predatory air. This he could see by the way she reclined on a bench and kept a ready eye on the people that watched her from across the square. Self-assured, he thought, by the fact that she was the predator in this situation. All she had to do was wait and inevitably, indubitably, her prey would come to her.

'Ah', he laughed to himself. Here came another boy, around seventeen by the look of him. He approached her timidly, and seemed rather put out by the fact that she appeared not to notice his advancements.

Or, wait? Yes, he corrected himself; she had indeed noticed his drawing near her. She was simply not displaying it openly.

Only the observer, as one who hid his emotions quite frequently, could have noticed that split second of indecision followed by another of mingled with contempt and feigned unconcern.

This was not what she wanted, he noted wryly. And indeed, the boy was hardly comparable to Adonis himself; he was tall, weedy and had a nervous twitch.

The watcher surveyed the scene in amusement. By the way the boy was glancing over his shoulder; he had been goaded into the situation by his classmates, and was evidently not the smoothest of characters.

He inched forward and cleared his throat behind the girl. She ignored him, instead contemplating the peeling paint on the bench she was perched upon.

The boy watching from the shade could just see her lips twitch in the shadow of a derisive smile, before deciding she could ignore him no longer.

Gracefully twisting on the spot, she eyed the boy's finger (which he had just been reaching forward with, to tap her on the shoulder) with thinly veiled disgust, but still smiled at him. It was, albeit, a dangerous smile; and the boy paled at the sight of it.'Yes?' she asked in accented English, her melodious French inflection mellowing her tone. But in spite of the melodious and soothing tenor, she was daring him, plainly, to say something – anything. And instead of forming articulate speech, the boy stuttered and gasped, tripping over his feet in his haste to find something to say to the terribly attractive young woman in front of him.

She smirked, seeing his discomfort, and turned back around. It was a deliberate dismissal, and saw the boy looking stunned and confused. He turned quickly, stumbling back to his friends looking quite the worse for wear.

The observer could see the entirety of the girl's face from where he was situated, and smiled at what he saw.

Indeed, the watcher was indeed better at concealing his emotions than he would readily admit; he was also adept at analysing others' faces. In this girl's, he could decipher from the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her eyes that she was highly amused. He could see her eyes sparkling sardonically in the sunlight, opened up to their fullest potential as she swept the courtyard once more. And even as her heavy, languorous lids lowered once more over her grey eyes, he could still see the amusement tucked into the corners of her mouth.

This girl, he surmised, had skills in deception that matched his, at least, if not outreaching his abilities. He derived from her body language, the easy open torso and paradoxically neatly crossed ankles; she was presenting a challenge to all who would dare.

It was a game to her, he guessed. But how high were the stakes? Of course, he couldn't be sure, and all that he knew was that the relaxed, but well-bred air about her certainly belied the closed nature of her face.

Why? He asked himself. Why was this so?

Taking respite from his thoughts in reality, he returned to his source of entertainment. Class was in session once more, he saw. The previously packed courtyard was now bare, but for one solitary figure. And yes, she was still reclined against the bench, he noticed with satisfaction.

Every so often, flickers of something underneath shone through her languid mask. It was a glint of the eyes, beneath drooping lids, that signalled her to be a person very much awake and almost _overly _alert.

It was hidden in the slender, gently undulating lines of her body. There was a hard line of highly-strung tension and an occasional rapidity of movement that revealed it.

But then the boy frowned, something had changed in her demeanour. Her posture hadn't changed, remaining relaxed and easy, but her eyes deliberately raked the courtyard. She was looking for something, he realised. But secure in the belief that she would not know of his presence, he continued to watch.

Like a cat, the girl prowled the edge of the grass, flitting from one paver to the next silently.

Which made him think that, yes, she was indeed akin to something feline. Her movements were indolent, yet the buried tension ran through her body constantly – an invariable wariness, an awareness of everything happening around her.

She was a live wire underneath her disguise, he mused. Positively humming with tension and –

Wait.

The watcher tensed. Somehow, impossibly, she had discovered his presence. He smiled ironically – should he be so surprised? After all, she was so like himself.

Quickly, silently, she floated over the surface of the square, movements wraith-like. Reaching the tiny copse on the far side, she stepped between two rhododendrons to reveal a small grotto. It was bathed in soft green light spilling from the latticed walls, and housed a variety of potted plants. Within the tangled greenery, reclined upon a stone garden seat she came across one who appeared at first to be some sort of elfin creature. So glossy his hair, and fine his features awash with a viridescent hue that the girl almost double-took him. Catching herself just in time, she realised that he was, in fact, human. And the same age as her, she judged by his build and features. The green tone was the effect of the magnolia he was leaning against, and she didn't fail to note the appraising stare he was treating her to.

And the face, in all its elegance, had not failed to make its effect on her. But it was his eyes that threw a sense of disquiet over the girl. They were unsettlingly familiar. Their expression was identical to hers – closed, guarded, but ostensibly amused at the world. She felt she ought to say something to this stranger, of whom she was fairly sure had been watching her since she arrived at the school. But instead, Thelesis Rosier arched an eyebrow, the enquiry clear in her expression.

But Sirius Black only smirked, and leaning back against the magnolia, said nothing.


	4. Dear Volatility

Audacity

**Audacity.**

**Chapter 4.**

Steps were sounding in the courtyard outside the verdant enclosure in which Thelesis currently bided. As to whether she could hear these footfalls, it was not immediately apparent. Her mind, it would seem, was still processing the circumstance in which a strange boy had coolly entered her state of affairs and just as coolly left it again. The boy was not still there, having vanished several seconds before.

In a whisper of leaves, she witnessed his body blink out of existence with naught to show for it but a soft _pop_. All that was he, the unidentified male who had been observing her every move just minutes ago, was gone. Into nothingness, she mused.

In fact, Thelesis was not surprised – no, indeed! She could have done the same, if she wished. Did she not learn it (she assumed) just as he? And amusingly enough, she reflected, it was what she would've done in this situation as well. But, she frowned; she would have done so before the person she was observing had the chance to see her. It was all very curious, and Thelesis was rather more intrigued than perturbed.

Returning to the sound of footfalls on the pavestones outside, she shook herself from her reverie and pushed past the surfeit of foliage screening the grotto from sight.

There, walking past the benches Thelesis had occupied just before was a girl. She looked to be around her own age, for she was tall and willowy; with wavy tresses that stretched to her waist. The stature of this girl was elevated, no doubt, from that of Thelesis' own (only in a physical sense, she assured herself) and so she could not be too much younger. Even so, Thelesis reflected erratically, she must be around the same age as herself – the walk was too assured to be anyone younger and the set of her shoulders too firm to be anyone other than an authority figure. But then the figure turned and walked towards her, and she was able to discern the differences between herself and the girl. She was very slender (in accordance with Thelesis), and looked to be a good head taller than her. The girl's (who indeed appeared her own age) expression changed from quietly frustrated to relieved as she beheld Thelesis, and she glided out of the murky shade. The playful breeze lifted strands of her hair and tossed them in the sunlight ostentatiously; there she appeared golden, of glimmering sunlight and dusky shadows. The small gold Head Girl badge fastened to her pinafore glinted against hair of strong mahogany and eyes the very shade of chartreuse.

Observing this, Thelesis ignored her stomach as it protested angrily. She beat down the excuse to throw something large and damaging at the sharply pretty girl, instead choosing to fix a smile upon her face. The girl approached quickly, and she used the time to measure the wattage of her greeting carefully before focusing on the viridescent eyes ahead.

'Lily Evans!' exclaimed the girl, smiling widely. Thelesis surmised this was the girl's name, although (she reminded herself) one could never be certain with the overly-breezy types. 'Welcome to Hogwarts School.' In the midst of the girl's exclamations she had extended her hand. She cocked her head to one side and smiled brightly, waiting for Thelesis to seize it, no doubt. Deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt, Thelesis took the proffered hand gingerly. She could be observed to wince slightly as her hand was crushed in the enthusiastic clasp of the Head Girl. So she, in the process of extracting her hand from the dangerous vicinity, volunteered her name in diversion. 'Yes, I know,' trilled Lily, relatively sedately. 'I believe you transferred from Beauxbatons?' She looked inquiringly at Thelesis, who had rescued her hand in the meantime and was looking wary of further persecution.

Lily Evans was evidently under the impression she was dealing with a kindred spirit, she noted. Lily had turned the statement about Thelesis' transferral she full well knew was true, into a question. Thelesis was rather taken aback. Assumed comradeship had been one thing, but to progress to physical contact and unwanted sensitivity was wholly unprecedented and really rather appalling.

'Yes,' she began, disdain and disinterest laced through her tone. 'Yes I did come from Beauxbatons.' Casting a glance at Lily, Thelesis saw the intelligent features appeared piqued.

'You left, though,' stated Lily, somewhat unnecessarily. 'Might I ask why?' Thelesis smirked openly. So this was what she had not been informed of, the little Head Girl. Why had the mysterious stranger arrived, at all? She decided to have some fun with Lily, for the moment was opportune, if not appropriate.

'You could ask…' she sneered at Lily, a lone eyebrow raised. Lily was stymied but momentarily.

'I wouldn't, normally, but to have transferred when the year has already started is unusual. Wouldn't you agree?' She looked properly deferential, and another might have forgiven all forwardness. But Thelesis could see through the chastened exterior and practised shell of humility. She could see through, and almost laughed for the ridiculousness of it all. The lure had been grasped so long before ever cast. 'So will you tell me?' she pressed again, eagerly. Thelesis had to suppress a physical smirk this time, and turned her head away to shield her expression from Lily's sharp eyes.

'Ah, well,' Thelesis pretended to deliberate for a few short seconds. 'No, I don't think I will.' She trailed off suggestively. She could see Lily's eyes spark with consternation; Thelesis had turned her body away from her. She feigned a distressed stance by hunching her shoulders slightly and bowing her head. Lily looked confused, but then coloured and looked contrite.

'I apologise,' she ventured stiffly. 'I didn't intend to pry.' Thelesis had no answer for this, but instead instrumented a choice shudder of her frail shoulders in the right moment, to bring the Head Girl hastening over.

Lily looked beyond appalled; the situation had turned pear-shaped, beyond her control. It was impossible to see past the tangled skeins of chestnut that masked Thelesis from view. The shoulders gave another delicate shudder that very nearly caused Lily to panic in commiseration.

The late afternoon breezes blustered on strongly, through abundant greenery in a courtyard at the front of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, illuminating two girls left on a border path in the dwindling sunlight.

Thelesis Rosier prided herself on many things. Some people said she prided herself on rather _too_ many things, yet regardless of their opinions (which she herself believed to be biased and patently untrue) she continued to hold a not-inconsiderable estimation of her own abilities. In many people's belief, there were two categories of person in the world: the ones who _believed_ they were transcendent, and the ones who simply _were_. The former kinds were usually insufferable snobs who never stopped to consider one of the greater truths of life – that they were, perhaps, not as marvellous as Mother had always told them. And generally the latter kind, were just as – if not more - galling. They were the class that had never in their lives failed to self-deprecate in any situation that cared to arise. They would carefully and helpfully suggest ways in which the former types might like to proceed, simply and effectively boosting their egos while they themselves basked in the glory of being (vexatiously) lovely people.

But those who had divided these two types of people with such categorical judgment had never stopped to consider that, every once in a while; one might come along who fitted into neither category. One might arise who possessed the most disagreeable of both sides' characteristics. The uncomplicated truth was that Thelesis was a person whose estimation of themselves (however conceited and vain that might be) was generally accurate. Therefore, she was the two types of people in one person. Her exceedingly good opinion of herself belied her willingness to slip behind the scenes and dictate from the wings. Unsurprisingly, Thelesis was of the opinion that she, while perhaps not _transcendent, _was still indeed laudable.

Knowing this (and being, to a greater extent, secure in the knowledge) and many additional inclinations of the human character, Thelesis was more or less able to pick the people she wanted in her life with fair ease, if not contrivedly. For instance, Lily Evans she had pinned the moment they had met. Lily had a disposition antipodal to Thelesis. She was an extrovert who controlled those around her from a position of power. Thelesis understood that these people usually manoeuvred themselves into lofty heights within hierarchies of establishments through nets of connection laid down and built up over years of careful work.

It seemed that, generally, these people were unaware of the extent to which they manipulated others – or, indeed, that they manipulated others at all. And their method, anyhow, involved befriending and knowing everyone. They worked people to the fullest extent possible; always with open methods. The point with Lily's sort, Thelesis had gleaned, was they avoided subterfuge, preferring to keep their work, whether subliminal or cognizant, in the open.

In complete opposition, Thelesis was, to these types. She wholly preferred her methods of imperceptible manipulation of which she effected in complete awareness of her motives. Not that her intentions were ever anything less than scrupulous, she often rationalised to herself. She was adamant in her belief that never had she set into motion any event or influenced any person with worrisome or dark drive. And she hadn't – not, at least, in her view.

And so Thelesis Rosier appraised Lily Evans, only too aware of the fact that Lily Evans would also be appraising her in return.

The day had only aged half a minute from the time it was left, and Lily Evans was still endeavouring to 'comfort' the overwrought newcomer. The frail, hunched back shuddered slightly, and Lily squeezed the silk-clad shoulder in evident regret. The new seventh-year was emotionally unstable, that much was evident to her. Her sudden mood-swings indicated that, surely, she was in dire need of support.

If only Lily had been able to see past the swathe of tousled waves, she might have observed the very amused visage of Thelesis Rosier, currently engaged in preventing audible merriment from rising to Lily's ears.

Thelesis was also, at that moment in time, bringing herself about to the conclusion that she was not very much enamoured with the Head Girl. So after another moment of faux-breakdown, Thelesis straightened and threw off Lily's hand much to the chagrin of the other girl, who feared some new outburst, no doubt.

'Sweetheart,' she began softly, but Thelesis cut in. She was tired of this charade now.

'Can we move on, please?' She rapped out; relishing the cast of confusion she brought to Lily's features.

'Yes, of course,' Lily stammered uncertainly. 'Follow me, Thelesis.' She moved to touch her shoulder in guidance, yet at this inopportune moment Thelesis had turned on her heel to face the egress of the courtyard. Lily received a face-full of her long, dark hair and promptly tripped over a protruding flagstone. She squeaked as she fell, and let out a muffled 'Oof!' as she hit the path. Moaning in pain, she stared after Thelesis, who had kept walking and hadn't looked back.

'Keep up, Evans!' She still hadn't looked around. Deciding she wasn't sure if she liked this new girl overmuch, Lily called out to her.

'What did you say your last name was again?' Her voice was laced with suspicion. Thelesis stopped, her head twisting to the side so her profile was visible. Then she smiled mischievously and twirled to face Lily.

'I didn't.' She walked back to Lily's side, however. In a voice of malicious charm, she bent down to speak in her ear. 'Come now, Evans. Surely we don't have all day!' And with this remark, she hoisted Lily up by the elbow and skipped with her back to the entrance of the corridor. She paused then, head bowed to the side and not looking at Lily, who was absorbed in brushing the dirt off her skirt. Thelesis appeared to be thinking hard about something; she opened her mouth and closed it in the same movement, unbeknownst to Lily, who couldn't see her face.

So instead she started walking down honeyed, mellow interior of the corridor just entered, dragging Lily along with her. Rich light from windows of stained glass high on either side of the walls was thrown down to glorify the floor. Brightness illuminated the two girls as they strode down the passageway in considerable haste, considering the skinned knees of the indignant and still confused redhead.

'Wait!' Lily cried after a few moments. Thelesis didn't pause, but slowed her steps. 'Where are you going?' Thelesis stopped walking entirely, in favour of crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at the dishevelled girl. Lily blanched under her disdainful stare and tried again. 'Because we're supposed to be going to the hall for dinner-'

'And do you have a reason for not taking us there?' Thelesis cut in.

'Well I was going to-' Lily began, clearly disturbed, but was cut off once more.

'I can imagine there was a whole host of things you were going to do, Evans, but if navigating the castle with any sliver of competence was on it, I believe you lost your objective a while ago. That is, of course, you _can_ find your way around the castle? Because if you couldn't, I can't imagine why they would have sent you.'

Something about the new girl was not quite moral. It sounded to Lily as though she was highly offended by her ineffectuality at guiding a new student. But Thelesis' eyes glittered with a suppressed mirth that made Lily shudder in tentative unease. Something about the set of Thelesis' mouth told her not to gaze too deeply, lest she sustain more injuries, this time of verbal origin. And as for the basis of this mirth, Lily was sure it was anything but affable. There was no benefit, though, in quailing to the wrath of what was just another student. She was Head Girl; she reminded herself of the power she wielded and the backbone that had never failed her. If she didn't marshal all the command she could exert, there would not be an end to the mutiny Thelesis could start (of melodrama, it seemed Lily knew no bounds). She breathed in through her nose; once, twice, thrice.

'Yes,' said she, having gathered her wits. 'Yes, I do know the castle rather well; well enough to recognize your folly in hoping to navigate it alone. I don't hold any pretence about friendships, darling, and I hope you realise that I could make your time here very difficult. Besides, I don't believe that we will be spending much time together from tonight.' Lily looked at Thelesis, who gave a nebulous smile and nodded. The Head Girl had gumption after all. There was hope yet.

'Lead the way.'

It had taken forty-five minutes, Thelesis approximated, to reach the large oak doors that shielded the Great Hall; forty-five minutes of traversing large twisting staircases and empty, echoing halls. All of these, she noticed, appeared deserted; a surprising multitude appeared bizarrely to the newcomer.

There were meandering, golden flights of stairs that hung burnished, gleaming and completely unsupported within large, open spaces. These spaces were overshadowed by the columns that frequently buttressed long lengths of monolithic wall. Long, high-ceilinged halls that should have emitted echoes instead chimed with the sound of a thousand bells at every footfall that sounded on their floors. Lily led her through miles of hallways, some cushioned with thick rugs that discharged great puffs of dust with each movement and some flanked by duplicate busts and suits of armour. At times, Thelesis felt sure she would be lost within the storm of dust motes their progress kicked up.

The late evening sunlight had stained the flagstones a bloody orange when Lily turned to her charge in finality. She gestured at the huge doors,

'Would you like to go first, or shall I?' Thelesis looked at her in disbelief, and Lily bridled. 'I'll take that as a, "no one cares?"'

'Perceptive, as ever,' Thelesis smiled into the words, and once again Lily gained a feeling she was being mocked. Somehow, this time it didn't seem so subtle. She visibly reassured herself, then, with obvious relief that her duties as warden were over. Her expression showed her thankfulness that after tonight, she would be rid of Thelesis. Most likely to Slytherin, she reflected. And if not to Slytherin, to Ravenclaw – for her character was nothing if not coldly intelligent. Lily reached forward and gave one of the doors a hefty shove with her shoulder. It swung open with a rusty creaking of hinges and the scrape of wood on stone.

She indicated to Thelesis that she would follow after her, so Thelesis entered unaccompanied through the reinforced doors into a world of shrieking and chattering. Dinner hall utensils were clattering across plates and people were conversing loudly and animatedly with their neighbours. The hall was set out with four long trestle-tables (for indeed, there was no better means of description) and was teeming with figures dressed in grey and black uniforms. For the most part, they were unaware of the new presence in their midst, but those closer to the entrance were beginning to realise.

As the hall became conscious of this fact, silence was rapidly falling, unhindered by a resounding slam reaching into the capacious depths of the cavernous room. Behind Thelesis, Lily had taken hold of the large iron ring fixed to the heavily-buttressed door and pulled it shut. The final glimpse Thelesis saw of her face was an expression of vindictive glee, created in anticipation of the attention the noise would attract.

Lily was not wrong, apparently. With an audible rush of air, all the faces in the hall had swivelled to face her, and in that instant, the huge and graceful hall was quite silent. Thelesis inwardly smirked. It was just what she would have done. Lily, it seemed, not only had gumption but credible amounts of mischievousness as well. She smiled openly then. The girl was more than tolerable, she decided. In fact, Thelesis almost admired her. Almost, but not quite.

So very gradually, as milliseconds crawled by, murmurs infused the multitudes. And as Thelesis stood there, in the proverbial spotlight, a voice called down the hall from an adjacent table at the very back. It came from an old man, by all appearances; Thelesis' education aided in the recognition of the distinguished (if not a little roughly-hewn) features of Albus Dumbledore. His words reverberated, causing heads to flick to their source and back to Thelesis, as though the sound waves were visible.

'Ah! A pleasure to see you here, Miss Rosier! Won't you join us for a spot of pudding?'

Thelesis didn't believe she had heard such deafening silence in the span of her existence.


	5. Return to me, Ambiguity

Audacity Chapter 5

* * *

The walk down the aisle certainly took far longer than anything Thelesis had experienced, or ever planned to experience.

The silence, so suddenly brought on, quickly dissolved into a furore of icy whispers. Icy, because the looks that accompanied them were, more often than not, coldly appraising. Thelesis could not process the change for more than a few seconds. Why had the atmosphere thickened into wintry murmurs, when just before the faces turned in her direction, they were open and curious? Why indeed, she pondered.

Replaying the last few minutes in her head, she came to realise that the only thing having changed was the Headmaster's proclamation of welcome. And what was in his welcome (aside from the call to indulge in various desserts) to set off a crowd?

Her name.

Of all the three seconds it took her to realise and digest this revelation, Thelesis Rosier was cursing her own sluggishness. The new school should have her on top of her game, she self-admonished, not foolishly admiring the décor! If things such as this kept on occurring, there would be no room for slow cognitive function of any sort.

So the name Rosier was not unknown here, judging by the expressions of those on the staff table – who were, to give them credit, attempting neutral expressions (and failing miserably). It looked like there was nothing profitable in denying it: the walk ahead was becoming comparable to running the gauntlet. Her lip curled in wry amusement; she was attired in a silk dress and flimsy footwear, hardly the uniform of a soldier. There was nothing for it but a direct assault in an oblique fashion. Her audience would expect any normal person confronted with the situation to avoid all eye contact as they scuttled down the aisle. Surely it would be cruel, she thought, not to give these people a little entertainment before supper.

With a ostentatious sigh, she began to glide down her path, taking more time in putting one foot ahead of the other than was strictly necessary. The one thing that could be said of this approach was that it brought her another revelation. Through scrutinising a few of the more intensely-glowering students, it became immediately evident to Thelesis that the students occupying the four tables were as different from the other as could be. It must be noted here that Thelesis, although she considered herself rather excellent at deducing things out of the ordinary, did not pull the disparity between tables out of thin air. To the casual observer, the tables would reveal different countenances, bearings and general expressions as well to them as to the next person, for they were nothing if not glaringly obvious. But to an extraordinarily observant newcomer such as Thelesis, the fact that the students in their identical grey and black uniforms were as strongly dissimilar as chalk and cheese could not fail to fill her with an intense fascination.

Like a child confronted with the reality of a world made of candy, her eyes glittered as they panned the hall. The table on her right was home to a motley crew of people; open faces with young expressions. They possessed an air of discomfort in the current atmosphere, and most stared with less venom than others in the hall. The girl closest to her was, like the others, expressionless. But with closer examination Thelesis discerned laugh lines etched deeply on her face along with the beginnings of crow's feet. This was true of many of her lot, and thus she came to the conclusion that they were generally a happy lot – their open faces and the occasional frankly curious face so indicated.

There was little of the tolerance in those faces at the next table over, though this lot seemed in sore need of some. Walking past, she marvelled at what one could discern from simply looking and truly taking in one's surroundings. These people were proud, their straight backs and impassive faces suggested. Proud and haughty. Ah yes, these were a familiar-looking lot, she decided as the closest to her caught her eye. A young girl of perhaps fourteen years, and passing fair; she took great care in her appearance, dark and shining hair pulled back with a satin ribbon. The young girl's mouth twitched severely under Thelesis' gaze, and she deliberately turned her body away. That expression of disdain gave her features an unflattering cast, she thought carelessly; like that of a chipmunk, or a vole…

The next few steps brought her mind back into focus in time to view the table directly to her left. It struck her that the temperature here was several degrees cooler than the rest of the hall (or so it seemed, from the coolly appraising looks she was receiving). The frigidity in the students' countenances seemed not to be directed at her, however. Indeed, it appeared that most were viewing her with a sly curiosity (that was if nothing else, rather unsettling). Hmmm, familiarity again. They were a gimlet eyed bunch, she mused idly, and some of the faces of the table held a faint twinge of recognition for her. One fair-haired boy at the far end smirked faintly as their eyes met. The name, the name! He was disturbingly familiar, and seemed to connect with her parents and faith. Faith? Faith… Ah! Bad faith. Her parents had associations with the Malfoys (Malfoy translated to 'Bad Faith' in French) in Britain, which would explain a lot of other faces at the table as well; these people were all the progeny of her parents' connections. Disconcerted, she looked away and reined in the emotions in her eyes. It wouldn't do for any of the more observant at the school to perceive any weakness in her at this stage.

She was almost halfway down the aisle now, and her steps were not getting any larger or faster. With a start of glee, she realised she was rather enjoying herself and channelling this through more measured steps. She had never been afraid of the spotlight, and whenever she was found herself in it, revelled.

The last table, on her far left, housed a paradoxical sight such that she almost chuckled aloud. As it was, her mouth did twitch into the ghost of a smile that had the more observant of the hall puzzled. This new table held students who encompassed, like the first table, all the warmth of life etched upon their features; like the second table, were proud and haughty; and retained a shadow of the shrewd reservedness of the third.

But this was not what Thelesis found her hilarity in. It was simply because despite the diverse range of personalities and emotions on their faces, foremost was a fierce and burning rage. And this rage, as the most self-absorbed and oblivious person could have informed Thelesis, was directed solely at her, the stranger traipsing through their midst.

She looked closer into the searing heat that the table emanated and nearly jumped in surprise. If Thelesis were less adept at hiding her feelings, she almost certainly would have tripped over her feet. Thanking her good fortune, she refocused on the place she last viewed. Yes! As she thought before, it was the boy from the courtyard! He was leaning casually on the table, viewing her lazily through half-closed lids. Nothing betrayed his knowledge of a prior meeting between them, though she thought she could see his eyes narrow in merriment.

As she watched, a boy to his left with tousled hair and a mischievous expression leaned forward to murmur something in his ear. His eyes never left hers as he answered the boy, lips moving silently in reply.

Feeling more than a little shaken, she swept the rest of the table. She never flinched as several sixth-year girls hissed lowly, glaring at her openly. Looking away before they could think they had made an impression, Thelesis was fairly sure that several others from the table donated some obscene hand-gestures to her cause. Nice to know they were charitable, at worst.

There, now she was a few scant steps from the staff table. As she reached it, Albus Dumbledore captured her attention away from the teachers who now smiled benevolently at her; apparently under the impression she couldn't see the reservations in their eyes.

He came forward, gliding towards her and gesturing at the wooden stool that stood directly before the school.

'Please, my dear,' he ushered Thelesis up to it. 'Please, stand up here.'

She complied, smiling winningly at the old man, who smiled back at her. Thelesis could not delude herself that she had won him over; something in his clear blue eyes told her he knew more than could be bought with a smile. Though it could never hurt to butter up another authority figure, she smirked inwardly.

Taking up her role to perfection, she blushed faintly at his smile and let her long hair swing forward to shield her face. He placed a rheumy hand on her shoulder and gestured to the antiquated book that lay upon the lectern. 'Here, my dear,' he told her. 'Stand here and we'll set this hat upon your head.'

Thelesis examined with interest the mangy headwear expounded in so many history books. Dumbledore still held it as he leaned forward in confidence. 'We won't prevail upon you to use the stool,' he chuckled so only she could hear. 'The teenage ego grows in leaps and bounds – something I am loath to diminish.'

She glanced up at him and he smiled down at her, something akin to commiseration in the mockery of his gaze. She smiled back, saying nothing; only taking the hat lightly from his wizened hands and placing it upon her head.

Utilising some form of trepidation to her advantage, she rested a slightly trembling hand on the brim as she waited.

Suddenly, a tiny Voice, echoing from somewhere about her left temporal lobe interrupted her thought flow. It jumped in, out of nowhere with a sudden,

'Hello then, what have we here?' The Voice evoked in her an image of tweed and tobacco pipes; it was a curious, rich and gravely tone, reminiscent of old England. Then suddenly she was at ease, and only the very back of her mind (the part that never rested) still clamoured to investigate the source and reasoning of the disembodied voice. She was conscious of time having suspended. No, not suspended and certainly not stopped, but like a sliver had been selected to run a different parallel to normalcy.

And then the Voice spoke again. 'Thelesis Rosier. My, what a name – something to live up to, eh?' Her mind frowned at this presumption, but still did not say anything. If her hypothesis was correct, it was more than capable of knowing everything she said before it was said – so to give _her_ consciousness voice was a waste of time.

'Correct, dear girl,' said the Voice with just a hint of smugness. 'And believe you me, your mind is hardly something usual.'

She wondered, against all compulsion to deny the voice satisfaction, what exactly he was on about.

'The layers your mind operates on are quite delightful, my dear,' it said. Thelesis could just imagine it puffing away on a pipe in some dim and recessed corner of the hat. 'No, no pipe, but a vivid imagination – very good.'

She was beginning to get annoyed. 'I apologise,' offered the Voice. 'It is so seldom that a mature mind enters my domain – or rather, I enter the domain of the mature mind. And when I do, I simply can't resist having a bit of a poke around!'

Thelesis rather thought that if she was only here for the Voice's vicarious enjoyment, she might as well take the hat off. 'Oh! No, no my darling. You are here to receive a placement from me for the duration of your stay here at Hogwarts.'

A placement made sense, Thelesis realised. She put together all the conflicting information she'd received about the houses of Hogwarts School and sifted through it. 'Hmm,' the Voice muttered. She got the impression it was listening to her every thought with trepidation. Why the unease, she wasn't sure – unless he had found something in her thoughts that was- '-Yes,' murmured the Voice. 'Very difficult indeed.'

If there was one thing Thelesis exceeded at, it was making others feel the extent of their foolishness – regardless of whether they actually were as incompetent as she made out. In this situation, she sniggered quietly. It really did sound as if this were a well-rehearsed routine that the Voice went through on a regular basis. And it was, she realised. The amount of students it had sorted over the millennia had jaded the Voice. And with that thought she gave a veritable mental giggle. Needless to say, the Voice was not pleased. 'Jaded? Jaded! I am a manifestation of Godric Gryffindor's magical consciousness and you call me jaded?' It expostulated. With an audible huff, it lapsed into a silence from which the occasional mutter was heard occasionally.

She stood there, faintly bored now, running over the information she had gathered about the school and how she would utilise it when the time came. Her thoughts led on to various other points of manipulatory tactics before coming to rest on the boy she had seen. If she had had mental post-it notes, there would have been one on her memory of him right now – _to be investigated._

All there was left to think of now was the Voice. Judging from the increased volume of its mutters, it was re-entering the realms of the mature magical manifestations, she thought. 'You are entirely impossible, do you realise?' The Voice was calmer now, and cleared its throat. 'Right, I'm here to complete a task – to Sort you into your appropriate House.'

Well, somebody had their priorities sorted now, she smiled mentally. It sniffed. 'Yes, well, don't expect any favours in future. Now let us get about our business. You have all the qualities of an excellent Slytherin,' it stated baldly. 'But other factors leave me indecisive about the wisdom of leaving them at your mercy should you be placed there. I fear I shall have to take into consideration other factors of your person, like the matter of your intelligence and diligence-' at this Thelesis gave the mental equivalent of a yawn. 'Ah yes,' laughed the voice. 'Ever ready to divert from the qualities you prefer to remain hidden, hmm? But have no fear, I can still make a decision based upon the place where you will rise to new heights.

'GRYFFINDOR!' the Voice shouted. Thelesis considered briefly staying under the hat just to let it know that it had deafened her and to please have more consideration, but she was already lifting the hat off her head.

Preoccupied in her thoughts, she did not at first notice that the school's murmuring had increased exponentially. She turned around to face them in one sweeping movement.

'Make her welcome, Hogwarts.' Albus Dumbledore smiled.

With the Headmaster's words still ringing in her ears, she stepped in the direction he indicated for her, before pulling up short. It was the first sign of doubt that she had exhibited before the school, and those close enough to recognise this smirked. But for once, Thelesis was not paying attention to her bearing. She had stopped, because the table he indicated was not that which housed the open-faced freshness of those she first saw. Nor was it the haughtiness of the holier-than thou second table. And it wasn't even the table with those she knew; those that her parents knew.

It was too perfect she realised now, with a start of bitter merriment; everything must have been ordained by a higher order – it was simply too perfect. It worked out very well for someone, somewhere, that she was seated at the table of the furiously impassioned and righteous. It was unfortunate the object of their passion would be right within their grasp.

She turned to the staff table and glanced at the professors. There was no time to be subtle; she needed their expressions to tell her what she required to know. Most were fairly useless; only the usual curious and cautious thoughts showed across their faces. She went to turn away again, but at the last second caught a flicker at the corner of her eye.

A thin, black haired woman wore the same, sage countenance as did the others, but underneath a smile of barely-contained glee lit the corners of her mouth twitching. And to her left, a small and rotund man whose expression yielded much the same. But this man worried Thelesis rather more than the woman did. If the woman looked anticipatory, it was nothing to how he appeared. She distinguished that it was not vindictive glee upon the woman's face, but something indescribable. However, if she were a prisoner walking the plank, the corpulent professor was the pirate flourishing a rapier at her posterior.

Ah well, she thought. You can't win everyone with a pleasant first impression. So with a final smirk in their direction, she turned to approach the table predetermined for her by the earlier (odd and rather inexplicable) book.

Staring at the faces rapidly approaching, she grinned openly at the challenge. Thelesis had always enjoyed swimming, and it was a lovely day to dive in with the sharks.

Yes, the name of Rosier was most definitely known here.

* * *

Right, so there it is.

If you pity me, Looks pitiable, then review!

xx

* * *


	6. Innocence Personified

Audacity Chapter 6

It was with a sudden start that Thelesis realised she was falling. One step closer to the table and the air – _tautened_ – around her stockinged ankles; testament of a magical working. There was someone here, thought the girl with annoyance, who did not altogether like her. This was unprecedented so soon after walking in the door. She had expected there to be a full day in between first meeting everyone and their deciding of this. Never minding the pre-emptive student body, her mind turned back to falling. This would hurt. Another few acute observations later and Thelesis had executed a perfectly inelegant crumpling to the floor; complete with windmilling arms and a lovely _oof!_

Acute indeed; she now hurt all over, in more ways than one. The hall, entirely quiescent before, was now indulging a collective paroxysm of laughter. It wasn't pleasant laughter, and Thelesis felt the red flags of ire hoisted high on her cheekbones. Assembling herself then, she brushed some dust off her dress and continued to the table as though nothing had happened. Something had happened though, if one cared to look closely enough. Her walk, which was closer to a strut before, had changed slightly, a boy sitting at the table she approached saw. Her body bent forward now; her purpose focused and eyes sweeping the table intently from beneath lowered eyelids. She was searching for the culprit who pricked her ego with his silver pin. He chuckled. Thelesis, who hadn't appeared to see anything out of the ordinary, slid onto the bench artlessly. She hadn't looked at the occupants of her right and left hands, but upon seeing that they were Lily Evans and an arbitrary male seventh year did not show surprise. Instead she reached for some salad, and lapsed into a session of wholesome self-doubt.

It wasn't that Thelesis Rosier wasn't confident, for no one could dispute her confidence (at least within earshot). But sometimes, as in situations such as these, she could swear she had some form of degenerative paranoia. She stopped. Wasn't all paranoia degenerative? Regardless, now there was a pervasive feeling of being watched and conspired against in her head that always occurred within minutes of being among company. It always left, eventually; but never before giving her a proper case of introspective thought.

The arbitrary boy, on the other hand, was still watching her. He thereby gave Thelesis actual grounding in her suspicions this time, for he had been the one watching her in the courtyard this afternoon. His focus now was on the way she had pulled herself together after the altogether unfortunate incident of falling just before. Anyhow, it was interesting to see how as soon as the new girl – _Miss Rosier_ – lost control of the situation, strange things happened to her body language. But time enough for that sort of thought after; there were plans to be carried out. With this last thought he smirked into his collar, turning his head just enough to make eye contact with the boy sitting across the table from him. His friend caught the glance and nodded, hazel eyes sparkling from behind wire-rimmed glasses.

Lily was watching this bespectacled boy suspiciously, and shot him a malevolent look when her casserole began to give off fuchsia steam. He widened bright eyes when seeing this, and gave her a look of such exaggerated innocence that she turned around in a huff, staring off at the other end of the table. Thelesis surveyed this out of the corner of her eye; seeing that after Lily had turned away, the handsome, hazel-eyed boy watched her for a good deal afterward.

The table was, for the most part, completely silent. Many watched Thelesis as she neatly ate forkfuls of Romaine leaves; they looked as though there was some great secret to be divined within the vegetables. Both Thelesis and her observer realised that although the majority of the table were staring, only a small percentage of the atmosphere was hostile anymore. The girls, generally, were looking over with the greatest contempt, before swivelling on the bench to pointedly eat their own salads. The male sector of the table looked on with more than slightly vacant expressions; one unfortunate soul had a small string of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth. This boy was taken aside by one of his friends, who gripped his shoulder tightly. This seemed to work, Thelesis saw. He shook his head quite like a dog ridding its ears of water, and looked around with surprise, as if awakened from slumber. Other males looked quite the same when the nearest female treated them to a choice glare.

The reasoning for all of this was only that while Thelesis had been walking down the aisle, no one person had seen anything but a seventeen year-old with dark hair and pale skin, who was petite and walked like she meant business. It hadn't quite clicked with the male population, then, that this new girl was in all reality, a _girl. _If our dear readers were ever worried that this new turn of paranoia brought on by a bruised ego was a lasting malaise, they shouldn't have wasted any concern. The dear, new girl was suddenly quite at ease.

She picked up her knife, eyes scouring the table for butter. If one was to listen carefully, there was surely some sighing occurring down one end of the table. Thelesis smiled, and the boy watched her intently as she slowly reached out one hand for the butter dish, and securing it, began to draw it back in. The sighs morphed into decidedly lascivious mutters that were quickly muffled by grunts of pain, as someone of the female division put an end to all ogling. He thought that perhaps Thelesis' shoulders had perked at the commotion, and was come over with the sudden urge to laugh hysterically at all things hypocritical in this world.

*

It was when the tables had settled down that the boy knew the tug of war would come. The hall was peaceful, and except for the instinctual glance someone would throw at Thelesis on occasion, all was well. It is said that the persons who hate Irishmen most are Irishmen, just as those who would hold tyranny over women must be women themselves. Soon enough, someone would come to challenge the new arrival, and that that person would be of the fairer sex was probable. The table was still tense, though, and any second now, any second –

'– So!' began a blonde girl two seats down from Thelesis. 'What brings a Rosier to this side of affairs? Not enough scope for you in France, I suppose. You do speak English so elegantly.' The heavy irony of the last part was hammered in by the girl tilting her head to the side and smiling thinly. Thelesis looked up from her meal and focused on the girl. It seemed to surrounding people that she blinked in sweet confusion and smiled. The boy watching would have bet a considerable amount that she was neither confused nor amicably disposed to the blonde in the slightest. Thelesis was not able to hear his conjecture, however, and turned to meet the girl with guileless amicability.

'I ought to,' she said, in a charming French accent that was perhaps slightly stronger than usual. 'My father, he is English; I learned the language at his knee. At least-' Here she stopped and could be seen to bow her head slightly. 'At least, I did when he was-' She actually did have the effrontery now, he observed, to bow her head. Very clever of her, indeed; for no one knew much more about this Rosier's family than the reputation her extended family had gathered. There was no person to gainsay her act - to gainsay _any_ Rosier would be unwise; vague and unverified accounts of nasty accidents on moonless nights floated in the minds of some. Others, including the girl, were mollified by Thelesis' humble words. The blonde girl wholly succumbed to her after this scene, and was perhaps not so disinclined to her as the other females surrounding.

They tried, certainly, to snare Thelesis in traps of simpering sweetness and barely-veiled insults. The boy sitting next to her only watched as one girl (known by all to be quite brilliantly eloquent) sitting adjacent to the initial blonde tried a passage of arms with her, but was routed with great carnage by our dauntless Miss Rosier. Again and again they tried and failed. Some could be seen to be negotiating coalition over the potato salad; another was plying her recently overcome friend with a pasty.

Our celebrated Head Girl Lily Evans would have taken to the battlefield, she assured a nearby prefect, only that it wouldn't be proper. An authority-figure should remain neutral in situations such as these, she maintained whilst glaring holes in the piece of bread Thelesis was raising to her mouth, as though she wished for it to be poisoned. The boy from the courtyard watched her say this and laughed quite openly, only stopping when she transferred that blistering glare to his head. But while it was impartiality that impeded Lily's direct participation, the unlucky prefect was confided to, she would back anyone who cared to take a shot in the direction of the new arrival's inflated ego. But that she seemed quite lovely, Lily would apparently have none of it, he saw. She nudged the prefect who had volunteered this unwelcome opinion, and set her at Thelesis.

As was mentioned before, quite a few young ladies set themselves at the young woman, and all were compelled into submission. It was an amusing defence mechanism he realised that Thelesis used. On occasion she adopted a most demure and naïve air, and under this manner she was quite treacherous. There were things voiced in a most unaffected manner that were quite, quite wicked. And once she had made these scandalous remarks, she would take care in making guileless apologies for her faux-pas, and in doing so made sure the whole table knew she had made them.

*

But all droll repasts come to an end eventually, and as this one broke up through unvoiced consensus Thelesis joined them. Carelessly tossing aside her napkin, she rose and walked with the rest to the hall outside. She lightly skipped to the centre of the floor and looked around for Lily, who was nowhere to be seen. When a few minutes of searching hadn't revealed any determinedly-cheerful Head Girls walking her way, she was forced to conclude that she wasn't going to come. Apparently the duty of her office wasn't so important as avoiding being contact with Thelesis.

So she watched instead the eddying swirl of students leaving for their respective dormitories. Every now and then she'd feel a tug on the lure, and a young man would casually sidle towards her. But in a strange recurring coincidence, they would disappear before they reached her. It may have been the product of an over-paranoid imagination, but Thelesis thought that _perhaps_, just perhaps, they were being led away from her.

Now she saw it was by females who, upon catching her eye, sneered and stalked off, arm wrapped around the nearest male. No, it wasn't-

-Yes, it was. A short young man with glasses and a bad case of acne was hesitatingly toeing the ten metre mark when he was waylaid by a tall, statuesque blonde (whom it was certain would never have gone near him under any other circumstances) and towed off by the elbow. Thelesis would have laughed at any other time, as the expression on the sorry boy's face was riotously bewildered. But the situation was rather dire, if you would pardon the melodrama. She had need to get to her dormitory, but for the moment she was being ostracised by half of society, and the other half were being shamelessly fleeced by the former! Who could guide her if not one from the student body, as (she turned and checked the dining hall) the teachers had not seen fit to be present?

Thelesis laughed to herself softly. If anyone had been close enough to witness the outburst, they would perhaps have heard the note of hysteria in that laugh. They would also have watched a sudden nonchalance emerge, because despite all her appearances Thelesis Rosier needed people. She may not have liked people at all, and certainly was not gregarious; she had a need for an audience and a love of being solitary did not overbalance that. Because as she well knew, there was a large difference between choosing to be alone and having the experience forced upon oneself. The first night in a massive school of magic peopled by those not well-disposed towards her was not something anyone should face alone. She could not feel the joy of solitude at present.

This sad and insecure young woman stood in that entrance hall for quite some time. But to her credit she bore the spell as she would any other; shoulders back, nose in air, and an overall air of dignity. All of this was well and good, until she realised three things. Of these three, the first was that no one, not one person who passed her by, was going to help her. And while she didn't like this, she accepted that she was an intruder who hadn't yet proved anything besides her bloodline. The next thing she knew was that for the reasons stated before, she wouldn't be able to trust anyone in this place. Like her previous school, Beauxbatons, it would be safer to keep to herself. And the third of these revelations was even more revelatory than the rest. It filled her chest with the feeble stirrings of hope, which, of course, she quashed before they grew. The third piece of knowledge was only that the boy from the courtyard was standing in the corner, staring at her.

What was the best approach, though? Now that the hall was deserted there was no one to testify if she revealed any true Thelesis-persona. But conceivably it was better to keep the artless schoolgirl approach initially. He didn't seem immediately like some of the others that frequented these halls, or at least what she'd seen of those that did were nothing to this paradigm of expressionless calm. It unnerved her, that he who watched her this afternoon (C'est impudence!) could barely be watched himself, for the fruitlessness of it. But then, maybe she could crack this façade – for surely it was one – with her demure advance.

A gentle smile and several breezy steps later, she was upon the boy. He who was being designed upon could have sworn he was watching a vignette modelled off _The Sound of Music,_ or something equally as inane.

'Hello again,' she began, cocking her head to the side and watching his reaction. There! There it was; his eyes moved with the bouncing of her hair and watched the sweet curve of her mouth. Surely this would be over quickly. Oddly enough, although his eyes _did_ follow her movements, it didn't feel like it normally did when she received an admiring quizzing from a male counterpart. 'My name's Thelesis,' she added, with a killing glance. There, now, that should leave him stumped, she thought. Unfortunately for our heroine, the boy didn't seem to think so. He lounged back against his wall and eyed her amusedly.

'Is that so?' He tossed out finally. She looked on, bemused, as he continued, as if to himself. 'Yes, yes. I _do_ seem to remember a spot of bother during dinner.'

Her smile thinned momentarily, but caught herself in time, she thought. It widened with her eyes again and she laughed.

'I seem to be in need of your assistance.'

The boy looked her over almost as one would a horse. Thelesis almost stepped back at the indignity.

'You seem to be coping fairly well on your own,' he said carelessly. Then he looked her in the eye and smirked. She knew he knew, now. What exactly he knew was indeterminate, but the point was that he knew a lot and it endangered her survival in the present hostile environment. She stopped and internally smiled. It was comical how she held moving to a new school on a par with guerrilla activity in wartime. Ah, wait, he wasn't finished. 'You certainly seemed to be coping well enough this afternoon.'

Unprecedented, surely, was this person's method. He gave the impression of saying one thing and meaning something else entirely. Thelesis didn't enjoy the feeling overmuch; a feeling which (it must be said) she inflicted most mercilessly upon her peers every day. Regardless of hypocrisy, Thelesis was sure she didn't need his help after all, and told him so. 'Indeed?' was the only answer she received.

'Are you intimating that you won't show me to the dormitories?' Adopting a tone of near-unbearable prissiness, she glowered at him. With any luck he would be reminded of a past, emotionally unstable girlfriend. Carefully she eyed him, waiting for a reaction. The only she got was him leaning forward off of his wall. He was uncomfortably close now; she tried not to let any discomfort show, not even as he came to be less than a hand-span away. Looking down at her (and, she suspected, at whatever else was to be seen), he started to circle. She moved with him, keeping him in sight. So concentrated was Thelesis on controlling the situation, a basic mistake was made; a mistake that she didn't realise even as he came to a halt, and began to advance into her again.

His eyes, impossibly light in the darkness of the corridor, caressed her cheek. Thelesis was feeling decidedly more uncomfortable now than she had thirty seconds before. He stepped forward again, and if she hadn't moved back with him, they would have been touching. Her eyes began to mock his, and then stopped in their merriment quite abruptly as her back hit the rough stone wall. His lips were near her ear then, so near.

'No, darlin',' his voice was light. 'I _said _that.' He gave her a moment of confusion, whereupon Thelesis was witness to the side of his mouth curving into a suggestive smile. 'But I _could_ intimate it, if you like.'

Unbalanced, she stared at him for a moment, then pushed him aside and walked off. She told herself that her pulse was most certainly _not_ elevated, and she didn't feel faint in the least! There was one last way she could gain the upper hand here. And that was the oldest businessman's trick in the book: to walk away. Any second he would come running, she told herself. Any second, now. Any second.

But that second never came, and she walked off into the gloom of evening alone. Scowling under cover of blackness she realised he had called her bluff, and she did not like it one bit.

*

After an imprecise number of minutes that, when thought about, masqueraded as hours, Thelesis halted. A watch often helped in situations such as these, she thought, promptly pulling one out of her pocket. Its silver chain reflected the light of the moon; a sickle peering in through the diamond-paned windows. Only ten minutes then, since she had walked away from the boy (whose name she did not know, she realised now), thus severing a potentially useful lifeline.

Pacing down the hall with determined vigour, Thelesis did not see the trip wire until it was too late. Sent sprawling on the cold pavers, she gasped in pain. The shadows on the walls seemed to writhe with laughter, but she declined to peer into the shadows; there would be no gratification for her persecutors. Then she laughed hollowly, for she had thought the boy lost to her. But now she thought he was not far away.

Getting to her feet, she turned around and went in the opposite direction, bypassing a set of staircases and taking a random corridor instead. Reaching for a doorhandle, she paused and pushed it open ahead of her, standing to the side. A bucket filled with a thick, glutinous liquid splashed down, black in the moonlight. She chuckled aloud in genuine appreciation. These pranks may not have been the most original, but someone was going to the effort of running after her erratic movements, setting them. The effort was admirable.

She set off down the next corridor, managing to avoid a false patch of carpet and some oily substance at the foot of another stair. The next banister she came across was smeared with honey (how petty), and she didn't manage to avoid that one, though thankfully didn't slide down it before realising. Six or so more pranks later and the novelty had worn off for both Thelesis and, it seemed, her persecutors. She had been wandering lower and lower down the levels in that time, and must have been a few levels below the ground, when she turned the corner and was confronted with a tall, blonde young man wielding a quartet of followers and a nasty expression.

*

Now, Thelesis did not think she could restrain the laughter if he began with so cliché an expression as the age-old, "_Well, well, well, what do we have here," etc, etc, ad nauseam. _And luckily he did not bow to the instincts that lead every self-respecting bully down that winding path to inanity. Instead he favoured the silky smile and intimidating step forward that many wrote off as weak. Thelesis valued the gesture, however, and stepped forward with a silky smile and intimidating step of her own to meet Lucius Malfoy.

His was an old family; seen before at a table in the dining hall, she knew him but barely. Functions whereupon she was placed with others her age by matchmaking parents had seen her face to face with him on occasion. But aside from this, no contact had been established, and by the look on his face none was likely to be. He circled her slowly, leering and smirking softly.

'Look here, Rosier old girl,' he began, in sardonic cheer. 'I thought you would be sorted…elsewhere, when you came to these hallowed halls.' She looked at him enquiringly and he stared back, all traces of jollity gone. 'We don't welcome _your_ sort down here.'

She looked at him evenly, but inside her brow was furrowed. She was like him, so what on earth did he mean? He wasn't quite clever enough to catch her expressions, and she was not quite so informed as to understand his insinuations, so she voiced her thoughts out loud.

'Could you clarify, Malfoy?'

He looked at her as though she were mad.

'How could I be more plain, Rosier? You are placed in an environment here that ensures you have others like yourself to live with. In case you hadn't quite processed the concept: _it was not in Slytherin house that you were sorted_.'

Now here was further proof of what she had expected: that the seeming divisions of the hall were more than imaginary. She had never the interest to read about the subject, and so was found woefully ignorant when she needed the knowledge most. Thelesis stopped the pretence of vulnerable posture she had automatically adopted and stepped back a little. It was manifest that she had unwittingly placed herself in unsavoury company that was not inclined to her presence. Lucius's eyes wandered from her face. 'A pity,' he murmured. 'But you must have had some inclination toward that troupe of oafs with whom you ride now. What was it?' He was readying himself for action, she sensed. And while she was capable of looking after herself, she did not fancy the odds of five on one.

Backing away slightly, she looked to the side. Beholding a figure silhouetted in the stone archway behind her, she looked back to Lucius and his crew. They followed her as she retreated, muttering and aiming wary looks past Thelesis' shoulder. It was interesting, but they seemed to be wary of the person standing there, who was of course, the boy from the courtyard.

She backed up so that she was standing next to him, and then looked at Lucius.

'Darling boy,' her caressing tone was markedly French in this echoing corridor. 'You're right. And the inclination was only that–' She broke off and beckoned him closer.

The blonde looked intrigued despite himself, and leaned forward to match her movements. Only centimetres apart, she looked him up and down and smirked. 'Only that the scenery, my love–' she pulled back to the boy behind her.

Grabbing his shirt, she fisted it up; pulling him in front of her. One of Thelesis's graceful hands lingered on his shoulder, while the other hand released the shirt and wandered downwards, playing with the waistband of his pants. '–the scenery is altogether more attractive this side of affairs.'

She looked upwards at the young man's face whose pants were being assaulted by her hand. He looked slightly shell-shocked at that moment, but she could feel his chest rumble with laughter even so, and smiled impishly.

She also observed Lucius's face turning an alarming shade of puce, and decided that a hasty exit was in order. She took the hand of the boy from the courtyard and together they turned the corner leisurely, looking for all the world like pair of lovers. As soon as they were out of earshot, they broke into a run.

7


End file.
